


Where you ought to be

by bhaer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Character Study, Gen, Please don't judge me for this, Short, Sorting Ceremony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bhaer/pseuds/bhaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An eleven year old Enjolras is sorted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where you ought to be

The sorting hat smelled like dandruff, dust, and oddly, honey. Enjolras inhaled, and waited.

_Another Enjolras. It seems like yesterday your father was here. He was an easy one, he was. And your mother. I knew her when her name was Whitaker. She was harder, but still, I think I chose satisfactorily._

The voice echoed gruffly in his head. Enjolras was not scared. The odor of decay and dust hit his nostrils hard as the hat flopped over his profile and he made a face. He was tired after the long train ride, a little ill from splurging on half a dozen chocolate frogs, and mostly, annoyed that the only thing worth mentioning about him was his parents. He was not scared.

 _A rebel, I see. Isn’t that_ terribly _interesting._

Dull laughter bounced between the walls of Enjolras’s skull and because he had only turned eleven three days before, and was tired, and a little ill, and very annoyed, he allowed himself to almost imperceptibly wince at the oddity of hearing an almost sinister cackle no one else could.

_You care about how others perceive you._

Papa had said that the children who showed fear were ridiculed. Sometimes a muggleborn cried and that was it; they wouldn’t have any friends for seven years. Not that Enjolras cared about that sort of silly popularity. But he did want that nice boy on the train to like him. And he knew, in a sort of resigned logical way, that life at Hogwarts would be easier with comrades. But then, Papa was always saying things that weren’t true. Until Enjolras was six, he had believed muggles to be green and covered in warts. It wasn’t until Maman accidently brought home a some tabloid called _The Sun_ instead of _The Imp_ that Enjolras saw a picture (not moving!) of muggles and realized they looked perfectly normal. Years later he learnt that they the same cruel stereotypes of wizards and witches as he had had of them.

The hat was silent, and when it spoke again, it seemed almost smug.

_Your parents have been cruel, thoughtless, unkind. You resent them, yet you love them. You want companionship, yet all you find are your mother and father in miniature. You are lonely. You have a strong sense of justice, perhaps not as finely tuned as it could be. You dislike your given name._

An unwanted shiver ran down Enjolras’s spine.

_No matter how stonefaced they look, boy, everyone’s frightened when I look inside their head._

A pause.

_But you’re brave, I grant you that._

Enjolras had to suppress a gasp. He knew what that meant.

 _Would you_ rather _be in Slytherin? They aren’t a bad bunch, but you’ll find more than a few with similar ideas to your parents. I think, despite logic, reason, and your own burgeoning ambition, you’d rather die than end up there._

_Where does that leave you? Hufflepuff? You may be loyal, yes, but you haven’t proven it yet, and your loyalty wouldn’t hold up to any real ideological difference. Ravenclaw? The last book you read was a Martin Miggs comic you bought for two knuts. Your primary school grades were atrocious, though I suppose we can chalk those up to your, ahem, behavioral issues._

He waited with baited breath.

_I won’t force you, boy._

Enjolras made a sort of horrible, miniscule nod that felt like damnation and the hat, satisfied, went silent inside his head before leaping out and proclaiming “GRYFFINDOR!”


End file.
